


Four Days

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Four days of Josh going insane with desire for Donna.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

I think my assistant has lost her mind. See, I can watch Donna at her desk from my desk if I open my door all the way, turn my chair to just the right angle and lean back in it as far as it goes, and then squint. Not that I do that on a regular basis or anything, but I happen to be doing it now, so I know. She has lost her mind. She keeps looking at her face in her make-up mirror thingy. Not only that, but each time, she gets her make-up mirror thingy out of her purse, looks at her face in it, and then puts it back into her purse. This concerns me for two reasons. First of all, what is she looking at in that thing? Second, why does she keep putting it away? If she’s going to continue to look at herself every minute or two, why doesn’t she just keep it out on her desk? Women…

So anyway, I’ve been watching her for going on 45 minutes, I’ve got to know what the deal is. What? 45 minutes isn’t all that long to lean all the way back in a chair and squint. And I took a brief phone call sometime in there. I know, you’re concerned that your tax dollars aren’t being put to good use, don’t worry, Toby’s working really hard today.

I can’t take it anymore. “Donna!” 

Nothing, she’s not answering, because she’s looking in the make-up mirror thingy again. Why do I keep saying ‘thingy’? That’s not a word. “Donna!” Oh good, here she comes.

“Yes Josh, what can I do for you on this glorious day?” Oh no, she’s in a good mood. Too good of a mood. Is it her birthday? Did I miss her birthday? No, that was two months ago. Does she have a date, is that why she’s so happy? Did she have a date last night? Did she get lucky? I’ll kill the bastard.

“…a day like this.” What. Oh no, she’s talking. What did she say?

“What did you say?”

“I said you just can’t beat a day like this. It’s beautiful out today.” She’s got that smile that makes her look like she’s about ten. I love that smile. 

I look out my window. “Donna, it’s raining outside. Like hurricane raining. What’s up with you?”

“I happen to like the rain Josh. It’s…romantic.” She did have a date last night. 

“Did you have sex last night?” Oops, did I say sex? I meant to say date. Uh oh, her eyes just bugged right out of her head. Maybe, as her boss, I shouldn’t have asked that. Is that bad? I’m just going to look at this file in my hand so I don’t have to look at her.

“Josh!!!! I can’t believe you said that. And for your information, I can be in a good mood without the high of great sex.” 

Great sex? My head just popped right back up. “Who said anything about great sex?”

“Well, if it was bad sex, I wouldn’t be in a good mood,” she says in her ‘duh’ voice.

Ok, now I’m confused. “Wait a minute, you just said you could be in a good mood without the high of great sex.”

“Josh," she says as though I'm an idiot. "A woman can be in a good mood after no sex or after great sex, but not after bad sex. Don’t you know anything?” Is that true? Cause I don’t think that’s the case with men. Good, bad, ugly. As long as we get sex, we’re in a good mood. 

“So, it was great sex then?” Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“What are you talking about Josh? I didn’t have sex last night; we worked until 3am. I then went home and was back here at ten. When was I supposed to have time for sex, good or bad?” I can’t help but look back down at the file I’m holding and smile at this. I know it’s wrong, but I like to keep Donna here at all hours of the night. And, although I’d never admit it, that’s why. So she doesn’t have time for sex. 

Wait a minute. I just missed something. I look back up at her again. “What time did you get here today?”

She’s looking at me like I’m nuts. “Ten Josh. Didn’t you notice that for the first three hours you were here I wasn’t?”

“No, my meeting with Leo on welfare lasted most of the morning. I didn’t get out of there till 9:30am. You weren’t here that whole time?” She shakes her head. “Where were you?”

 

“Don’t you ever listen to me? I had a dentist appointment this morning.” 

“Right, I remember, the dentist.” I don’t remember that at all. She’s in a good mood after a dentist appointment? I don’t get it. And why is she looking at me like that? 

“Did you want something?” Hmm, what did I want? Her, I want her. What’s she talking about? Did I want something? Oh, I called her in here. What did I want? I can’t remember. Ah yes, the make-up mirror thingy. Thing.

“I just wondered… I mean… well you were out there…” How can I ask this question? I’m going to look like a stalker. I better look back down at this file. What’s in this file, anyway?

“So, my dentist gave me a new toothbrush today.” Did she just switch topics? That’s typical.

“Donna,” I say, still pretending to look at the file. “Dentists always give their patients new toothbrushes. I get floss too.” I bet she doesn’t get floss.

“Josh, are you trying to one-up me on dentist gifts?” Of course.

“Of course not!” She rolled her eyes at me. How does she know me so well? 

“Well good, cause you’d lose. This toothbrush is awesome! It’s electric, and it doesn’t rotate back and forth, it spins all the way around. That’s supposed to be good, although I don’t know why. Anyway, it has two brush heads. One flat one, and one pointy one to get down by the gums and in between your teeth. I brushed my teeth with it when I got here, and my mouth has never felt cleaner. It’s amazing.” 

“Is that why you keep looking at your self in your make-up mirror thingy?” Did I just say that out loud? Crap.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s called a compact, Josh. And how do you know…” Uh oh, now she’s walking around to where my chair is and looking out towards her desk. “How do you know I was looking in my compact?”

How do I know that? How do I know that? Crap, how do I know that?????? “I, uh, saw you when I went to get a cup of coffee. Is that why you keep looking at yourself? Cause I thought maybe you had a pimple or something.” Smooth Lyman.

“I have a very good complexion.” Yes I know. What, she does. She has a beautiful face. “And no, that’s not what I was looking at. I had my teeth whitened today.” I look up at her and her bright white smile. Damn, she’s beautiful. Oh, I already said that, didn’t I?

Play it cool. “Why did you have your teeth whitened? Hot date tonight?” Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“No, I wish. I can’t wait to get good and kissed with my white teeth and my clean mouth. The next guy I kiss isn’t going to be able to get enough.” What did she just say? Is she trying to kill me? Did she just… close your mouth Josh. Close your mouth. Close it. She’s looking at me like I’ve lost it. “Are you ok?” I’ve never wanted to kiss her more than I do right now.

I grip onto the sides of my chair so I don’t leap out of it push her against the door she’s standing by and… “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” I hate your dentist, and I’ve never wanted to kiss you more than I do right now, but I’m fine.

“Ok, I’m gonna go, you know, govern.” With that, she turns around to leave and I lower my head to my desk and begin lightly pounding it repeatedly. “Josh?” Oh crap, she’s back.

“Huh?” 

“Didn’t you call me in here for something? What do you want?”

To push you against that door and kiss you with everything I am. “Oh…I just wondered if I had any meetings scheduled this afternoon.” 

“You’ve got Toby and Senator Williams in the Roosevelt room in 20 minutes. And don’t forget to take that file your holding.” And with that she smiles and she’s gone, leaving me here to continue pounding my head against my desk. Maybe I’m the one losing my mind.


	2. Day Two

My assistant has commandeered my office. She says it's only for two hours, but I'm a bit scared that at the end of the two hours it will go to just being her office, not back to being mine. Leo's been threatening to give Donna my job for years. I don't think it's a joke. Can you imagine me doing her research, booking her travel, typing her memos? See, me either. It's alarming. Donna could do my job any day, but I couldn't do hers for ten minutes.

Anyway, she's taken over my very comfortable chair, leaving me to sit in this not so comfortable visitor's chair reading the Low Income Housing Report for my meeting on the Hill later today. She's on my computer doing research on welfare reform. She says maintenance has her computer and won't be back with it for two more hours. I pointed to it sitting on her desk, but she assured me that's only the monitor and it doesn't do her any good without the tower.

Right now, she's got out her note cards. Donna is the queen of note cards. She also uses more post-it notes than anyone I've ever met. And once, Jeff from supplies told me that she goes through an alarming amount of scotch tape. I've never seen her tape anything.

"Donna, no more that 15 note cards."

"Impossible. I'm already at 36, and I'm not even close to done." At least I think that's what she said. She has a pencil sticking out of her mouth, so she's kind of mumbling.

"Did you get the statistics on the…"

"Yes."

"What about the…"

"Yes."

"And the…"

"That's what I'm doing now."

"What else is there?"

"Job training, child care, public transportation…"

I can't sit here anymore. This chair is NOT comfortable. I stand up, stretch, and walk over to the computer where Donna is. I put my left hand on her left shoulder and lean over her to get the note cards she's already written. Her hair tickles my neck and she smells incredible.

I've smelled Donna many times. Well, that just sounded gross. What I meant to say was…well…I've been in close enough proximity of Donna on numerous occasions that would lead me to… smell her. That didn't really sound any better, did it? Let's just move on. What I'm trying to say, and obviously can't, is that this is a new smell. It's, I don't know, fruity? In general, I'm not a fan of perfume. I'm also not a fan of flowery smells. They're too pungent. It's too much. Donna always smells great. She smells like a mixture of shampoo, baby lotion and fabric softener. It doesn't hurt my nose. It's subtle, like her.

But today, she smells… well, I think it's fruity, and I like it. It's really nice, and still subtle. In fact, I didn't smell it at all until I got right up here by her. Which leads me to this question: Why is she wearing some sort of fruity perfume that can only be smelled when someone is this close to her, and who is she letting get close enough to her to smell it? A date? A boyfriend? Is she trying to kill me? Wasn't the great sex/kissing conversation enough yesterday?

Why has she stopped typing? I turn my head to the left to look at her, and she's looking right at me. What? "What?"

"Why are you just standing there? Do you need something?" Oh no, how long have I been standing her smelling her? She's going to sue me for sexual harassment.

"Just reading over your shoulder." Good cover.

She turns back to the computer. "Oh, it's interesting, isn't it? The cities with extensive public transportation systems have a higher overall percentage of low-income families. But those are the same cities that have a higher standard of living. It's like a double-edged sword. They need the subway system, but it's harder to earn a living."

"Yes." I'm not really concentrating, and I'm not real sure what she's talking about. At this point, I've leaned into her neck a little bit more and I'm trying to figure out what that smell is. It's mesmerizing me. It smells good enough to taste. I'm tempted to just….

"What do you think about it?"

"It smells great. I love it," I mumble. She whips her head back to her right, hitting me in the process. I jump back to an upright position and she stares at me. Oh no, this is another one of those `you need professional help' looks. What did I say? "What did I say?"

"You said it smells great and you love it. What are you talking about?"

What am I talking about? I'm talking about the fact that I want to throw you on my desk and taste every inch of your body with that stuff on it, and maybe a few areas without it. "Um, nothing?"

"What smells great?"

What smells great? What smells great? Think Lyman, what smells great? "Nothing?" Good comeback.

She seems to accept this as an answer. Either that, or she accepts the fact that I'm a complete idiot. Either way, she turns back to the computer and continues her research. I stay behind her, but standing up where I can't get into trouble. I'm just going to ignore the fact that she smells incredible.

"So, new perfume?" Ok, so I guess I can get into trouble anywhere, and apparently I can't ignore the fact that she smells incredible.

Her fingers freeze, but she keeps looking at the screen. "Is that what smells great?"

"It's…um…it's…fruity."

"It's lotion. It's called Pearberry."

This genuinely confuses me. Pears aren't berries are they? "Pears aren't berries."

"Can't get one past you, Josh." She says this in her `you are a complete idiot' voice. She uses that voice a lot when she's talking to me. "It's supposed to be a mixture of pears and berries."

"Oh. Right."

"D'ya like it," she asks kind of hesitantly. That's so sweet. But of course I like it. I already said that it smells great and I love it.

"It's fine." Don't say it. Don't say it. "Why are you wearing it? Hot date tonight?" I said it. I can't believe I said it.

She laughs. She's laughing at me. "Josh, you asked me that yesterday too. Are you trying to set me up on a date or something?"

"NO!!!!" Uh oh, I said that really fast and really loud. "I, uh…" I what? I what???? "Just with the teeth whitening and the new perfume, I was just wondering."

"Lotion."

"Whatever. It's just that, well…"

"We have to work late tonight?"

What? No, we don't need to work late. "Yes. Maybe. Why, do you have plans?"

"No plans, but we worked late on Monday." She's whining. I love it when she whines. She has very pouty lips, and I just want to kiss them. Especially after the talk about the new toothbrush. It's all I thought about yesterday. Focus, Josh, focus.

"Yes, but yesterday you got to go home on time."

"On time? It's was 8:30 Josh." What? That's not on time? "I'll work late on one condition."

"What's the condition? That you get a paycheck on Friday?" I know; I'm clever.

"Funny." See, she says I'm funny, but she doesn't laugh. I think she's being sarcastic. "I want to take a long lunch hour tomorrow."

"WHAT? I normally don't give you a lunch hour at all, and tomorrow, you want a long one? What the hell?"

"Listen to yourself Josh. You just said you normally don't give me a lunch hour at all, yet YOUR'RE the one upset in this conversation?"

What's she trying to say? I don't get it. I sigh heavily. "Fine. You can take a full hour."

"Two."

"Two? No way. I need you here."

"Two Josh. Nordstrom's is having a sale and there's a sweater I want. If I'm working late tonight, I'll have to get it tomorrow during lunch."

"An hour and a half, and you bring me back a burger and fries."

"Two and I bring you back a salad."

"Donna…." Now I'm the one whining.

"Or I can leave at seven tonight. You choose."

"Fine. Two and you bring me back a salad and a milkshake."

"Fine. Now let me get back to work." With that she turns back to the computer and begins typing at an alarmingly high rate of speed.

Did I just win that conversation? Let's see. I got her to work late tonight, even though I don't really need her to, and I got a milkshake. She got a two-hour lunch tomorrow to go shopping. I also have to eat a salad and come up with something for us to work on tonight. But, she can't go out on a date with her new lotion and whiter teeth.

Yep, I won.


	3. Day Three

12:36. Donna will be back from her shopping spree in 24 minutes with my salad and milkshake. I, of course, went to the mess about 45 minutes ago and got a burger and fries. I made sure I went when no one I know was around, and then ate in Toby's office while he was in a meeting on the Hill so she wouldn't smell it in my office. Then I threw away the evidence in a trashcan in the east lobby. No, I'm not afraid of my assistant.

My assistant, who took my credit card right out of my wallet when she left to go to Nordstrom's, saying something about me needing a new tie. Let's ignore the fact that I have at least 20 ties in my closet, plus the three or four I keep here. If I reached into her purse for something, it would be over for me, she would cut off my hand. Yet, she tells me to give her my wallet and I do, no questions asked.

12:44. I'm a little worried about my milkshake. I forgot to tell her that I wanted strawberry. What if she gets some weird flavor like, I don't know, chocolate? This could be a disaster. Well, not a 6.2-earthquake disaster; more like a mini-disaster. But a disaster nonetheless.

12:53. Donna walks past my office and into her cubicle. A minute later, she walks into my office and puts a milkshake and a bag on my desk and leaves. I assume the bag contains the rabbit food she thinks I'm going to eat for lunch. I put the straw into the shake; it's chocolate. Doesn't she know me by now? We've been together, let me rephrase that, working together for, like, our whole lives, has she ever seen me drink a chocolate shake?

"Don't, that's mine." She's back with several bags in her hand.

"A milkshake was in the deal, you don't get to drink it." Even though  
I don't want this… this…excuse for a shake.

"But that's chocolate, you hate chocolate shakes." She does know me!!

Yet she bought me chocolate anyway? "So you bought me a chocolate milkshake knowing I'd hate it, just so you could drink it?" I'm impressed, Moss.

She doesn't answer me; she just walks out of my office, leaving the bags. A few seconds later, she returns with another milkshake in her hand. "This strawberry one is yours. The chocolate one is for me." She's smiling. I love her smile. I've mentioned that once or twice over the last few days, haven't I?

"I am, however, going to eat your salad."

Now this is a tricky situation. I don't care if she eats my salad, but I can't let on to that, or she'll know about my covert lunch operation. "Donna, that's my lunch." I put a whine on it, just to keep up appearances.

"No it's not, you had a burger and fries from the mess." How does she know that? I took all necessary precautions to prevent her from knowing that.

"How could you say that?"

"Joshua." She looks at me and rolls her eyes. Then she takes the salad, dressing, and a plastic fork out of the bag and begins eating my lunch.

"You have spies in the mess, don't you?" This earns me a chuckle. She thinks I'm kidding. Truth is, I think she does have spies. For a while I thought she worked for the CIA and I was her assignment. Throughout the years, at one point or another, I've believed that my mailman, my mechanic, my cable guy, the head cook in the mess, the entire crew at the Starbucks by my condo and Toby are all spies for Donna. And no, I'm not paranoid.

"You want to see your tie? All the girls are gonna love it."

I smirk. "Well, I can make anything look good. Let me see. "

She leans over and picks up four bags from the floor. That's when I see it. I can't believe I didn't sense it in the room. There's something inside of men, it's a basic part of us. Like watching baseball or preferring beer to wine, spotting Victoria's Secret bags from a hundred yards away is a basic part of men. What is she doing with that in here? I know I've asked before, but I think it bears repeating. Is she trying to kill me?

"WHAT is that doing in here?" I'm beginning to panic. I'm beginning to sweat. I'm beginning to imagine what's in that bag, and worse yet, I'm beginning to imagine it on Donna.

She, however, has no idea what I'm talking about. "What? I took the metro today. I need to leave these in here until I go." She can't leave that here. She cannot leave that here. Doesn't she know what a Victoria's Secret bag does to a man's concentration, not to mention his blood pressure?

Act cool. "You can't leave that in here!" I think I screamed that. She doesn't get it. She can't get it because there is no male equivalent to Victoria's Secret. A Victoria's Secret bag turns a man's mind to jello. There is no bag I could walk in here with that would do that to her. Men don't have stores that turn women into jello. So, she can't know what I'm going through.

"Don't be a baby. They won't get in the way." They? I don't give a damn about the other three bags.

"What's in… I mean… weren't you… how'd you have time… I… I thought you were going to buy a sweater and a tie. What's… all that stuff?" I'm waving my hands around like a mad man at this point. The walls are closing in around me.

"It didn't take me as long as I thought it would, so I went to a few other stores too. I made it back in just under two hours, I'll have you know." This is totally normal to her. There is a Victoria's Secret bag in my office, and this is normal to her. My throat is dry. 

"Yes, but you made it back with a Victoria's Secret bag!!!!!" I'm staring at it. I can't take my eyes off of it. It's like an accident. You should look away, but you can't.

She doesn't even look up from my salad. "Oh, well, I needed a few things from there too." What does she need from Victoria's Secret? Who is going to see that stuff? Oh no, she has a date. A hot date. A date in which she expects to be having sex. I'm going to pass out. 

 

"What…what…what… what things?" And who is going to see them on you?

"Josh, do you want to see your things or not."

Me? "I get to see them? Yes. Yes. I definitely want to see them. Yes. Please. Yes. Yes. I'd like to see them. Yes." How many times did I just say `yes?'

"Of course you get to see them. They're yours." They're mine? Is she saying what I think she's saying? She bought Victoria's Secret things for me? She's going to wear Victoria's Secret things for me? I'm the date she's going to have sex with? Is this a dream? I can't breath. Is she going to try them on for me? Is she going to try them on for me now? Here? I should shut the door. I should lock the door. I should breathe. I should say something. She's going to…

She pulls a tie out of one bag and a shirt out of another, and that's when I realize we're not talking about the same thing. My head drops to my desk with a rather large thud.

"You were just going to get a tie, but this shirt goes perfectly with it, so you bought it too." She's very please with herself.

"Really. Did I buy anything else?" Cause if I bought anything in the Victoria's Secret bag, I'm going to need to see it.

"Just your lunch and our shakes."

I'm shaken out of my daze for a moment. "But it's really your lunch now," I say as she takes a bite.

"It's not my fault you ate a burger and fries."

"You don't know that." She rolls her eyes again. "I didn't want a salad." I'm whining now.

"You should have negotiated better yesterday." That's my girl. She's quite the political mastermind. She learned it from me. I'm proud of her. Scared, but proud.

"And you got the all-important sweater?" And lingerie?

"Yes, 50% off. And, I ran into Congresswoman Miller. She was shopping for her husband. She wants to meet with you on the welfare reform bill. I think you're going to be able to win her over."

Who is the lingerie for? I have to find out, but obviously I can't ask. What? Congress, welfare? What is she talking about? We're discussing Victoria's Secret, not congressmen.

"What else did you get?" I'm not looking at her; I am once again mesmerized by the pink and white bag sitting on my desk.

"Just this stuff," she says, pointing to said bag.

"Do I get to see that too?" I didn't just say that. I did not say that. Please tell me I didn't just say that.

"Sure, I'll try it on for you. You can tell me what you think." What???????????????

"Ok." That was more like a squeak than a word. "Right now?" Still a squeak. Is this really happening?

I finally look up from the bag to her face, her `not in a million years' face. She has no intentions of trying anything on for me. I think I whimper when I realize this.

"So, you're not going to let me see what's in the bag?" She just laughs, then gets up and puts all four of the bags in the visitor's chair and walks to the door.

"Good guess. Go back to work. And no, I don't have a hot date, at least not tonight." With that she raises her eyebrows then turns and leaves.

2:09. There is a Victoria's Secret bag in the visitor's chair across from my desk. It's been there for about an hour. Twice, I've gone over to the chair and tried to look into the bag. I didn't actually touch it; I just tried to peek inside. Unfortunately tissue paper is coming out of the top, barring me from seeing its contents. So, now I'm trying to devise a plot to get a look at what's in that bag.

3:10. I've got a plan. I'm going to get something from the top of the bookshelf. To get up there, I need to stand on the visitor's chair. To stand on the visitor's chair, I'm going to have to move the bags off of the chair, and I'm going to accidentally knock over the Victoria's Secret bag, spilling its contents. That's the plan.

4:04. I haven't gotten up the nerve to carry out the plan. I still can't take my eyes off the bag, and I have mental images of Donna wearing whatever's in it. It's very warm in here; I've gone through about three bottles of water plus my strawberry shake.

6:11. I quietly and slowly get up from my desk. I walk over to the chair and set the bags on the floor. I "accidentally" knock the Victoria's Secret bag onto the floor and on its side. I reach down to pick it up and…

"What are you doing?"

"Ahhhh!!!" She's a spy. I'm telling you, she's a spy!

"Josh, why are you screaming, and what are you doing?"

"I just… I needed…I couldn't reach…" I'm panicking. I'm a master politician and I'm panicking at the thought of being caught going through my assistant's underwear. I'm pointing towards the bookshelf and glancing at the floor, and then back to the bookshelf. I am sleaze.

"Oh, what do you need from up there? I'll pull it off the computer." She has no idea what I'm really doing. She's buying the story. She's so innocent. You've got to love her. 

"I need the report for the thing." The report for the thing? Never let it be said that I can't think quickly on my feet.

"Ok." She leans over, picks up the bags and puts them back on the chair. Then she starts to leave to get the report for the thing. I don't know what thing. "Oh, and Josh?" I look up at her. "Stay the hell out of that bag." She smiles and walks out.

I'm still standing by the chair and I look back at the bag. I don't touch it; I just look at it, and I can't help thinking of Tom Hanks in Apollo 13. He came so close to the moon.


	4. Day Four

It’s Friday. You know what that means. Donna and I will be working late tonight. Friday’s are a big night for dates, which means I do everything within my considerable capabilities to make sure she has to be with me. I try for Saturday’s too, but I usually fail. Working late on a Friday with Donna is fun. We usually go back to my place and order a pizza or wings, and when we’re done working, we watch a movie or play a game.

So right now Donna is changing clothes in my bathroom. This happens every Friday night, and every Friday night I sit on my couch and think of the movie “Porky’s.” Not that I would ever…well I might… 

Anyway, tonight I’m not thinking of Porky’s. Ok, maybe a little. But mostly, I’m thinking of that Victoria’s Secret bag. My brain knows she’s going to walk out of the bathroom in a pair of my boxers and my favorite Met’s t-shirt like every Friday, but a small part of me is thinking that maybe she’s going to surprise me by coming out here wearing…

Nope. Boxers and a Met’s t-shirt it is. Not that I’m complaining. In fact, I’m not complaining at all. She looks absolutely adorable in my clothes, beautiful and small and innocent and I just want to rip the boxers off her, carefully take off the t-shirt, folding it and putting it away, and then show her just how beautiful I think she is.

“When’s the pizza getting here?” I’m a little too busy thinking about your naked body to correctly tell time. 

“45 minutes.” I think. I don’t remember. Did I even call for the pizza?

“So, what are we gonna do for 45 minutes?” Oh, I can think of a few things.

“I guess we could work?” I’m so NOT in the mood for work.

“I don’t want to work.” It’s the pout; I love the pout. It’s like a weapon. We should take it on the Hill and negotiate with it.

“Me either. Scrabble?” I know that a game of scrabble doesn’t sound like an exciting Friday evening to you, but Donna and I can both bring the verbal. A scrabble game between the two of us can last hours, every tile being used, word scores in the 20’s easily. The dictionary is almost always needed (because Donna is sure that I cheat), and we have an unspoken rule that neither of us puts a word down that’s less than four letters. Basically for us, scrabble is bantering.

“Yes. And I’m going to kick your ass.” She’s already got it out and is setting it up on my dining room table. I, however, am now thinking about her ass.

Donna won the last time we played, which means I get to go first. Truth is, and I would never admit this out loud, I get to go first quite often. Tonight, however, I start with a great word. ‘Temper’. “20 points with the double word.” Donna keeps score. Again, something about me cheating.

“Well, you do know all about tempers, don’t you?” She takes some of her tiles and builds off of my ‘T’. “Tongue. 14 points with the double word.”

“Well, you do know all about tongues, don’t you?” I say, mimicking her statement to me. 

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do.” Well yes, as a mat…wait a minute, what? I need to review. ‘You do know all about tongues --- yes I do’ Whoa. I can’t believe I just…and she just… and…whoa. There it is, ladies and gentlemen, that is how Donna Moss almost always wins this game. All of my focus has shifted from winning to sticking my tongue down her throat. And now I’m sweating.

I close my eyes and try to calm down, then look over my tiles and add ‘r-o-a-n’ to her ‘g’ making the word ‘groan’. 

The game goes on like this for a while. I have laid some outstanding words, including ‘encore’, ‘harvest’ and ‘pebble.’ Donna has been equally amazing, and our scores are very close. Ok, yes, she’s winning, but barely. 

Then, her next move throws me for a loop. She added ‘f-r-u-s-t’ to ‘rated’, which was already on the board. “Frustrated. 14, plus a triple letter, that’s 22. How do you like that?”

“I can relate,” I mumble. She just laughs. I take at least 4 cold showers a week and she laughs. Heartless.

We keep playing until the pizza comes. Donna gets up, with my wallet, to pay. “Don’t cheat, Joshua. I’ll know if you do.” And she will. Know if I cheat, I mean. Along with the spy thing, it’s entirely possible that she has cameras planted around my condo.

While she’s gone, I take a look at the overall board. ‘Frustrated’, ‘tongue’, ‘groan’, and ‘needs’ are just a few of the words on the board. If someone walked in here and looked at this, they’d think Donna and I were engaged in foreplay. Of course, I’m always engaged in foreplay with Donna, she just doesn’t know it.

“Figure anything out?” I look up from the board and Donna’s looking at me. She’s not smiling; she’s just looking at me. Wait a minute; are these words here on purpose?

I barely whisper when I ask, “Is there something to figure out?”

She puts down the pizza. “Your next word. It’s your turn.” She hands me four pieces of pizza on a paper plate for us to share and grabs a beer out of the fridge, also to share. 

“I want my own beer.” 

“No.” And it’s as simple as that. She doesn’t even bother with an explanation; just no. 

The game goes on for a while. I’m concentrating on her, she’s concentrating on winning, which she’s doing. I’m fine until she comes up with the word erotic. Suddenly this game has taken a turn. “Erotic? You laid the word ‘erotic’?”

“I know, it’s only 8 points. I didn’t have anything else. If I keep laying words like that down, you’ll catch up.” No, if you keep laying words like that down, we’re never going to finish this game because I’m going to jump across this table and attack you.

“Josh. Earth to Josh. Are you in, Josh?”

“Leave me alone, I’m fantasizing.” Did I say fantasizing? No, I couldn’t have.

“Fantasizing?” She almost spit beer out of her mouth.

Ok, maybe I did. “Concentrating. I meant concentrating.”

 

“And you’re doing a very good job of it,” she deadpans.

I look at my tiles; I don’t have anything good. I lay an ‘o-v-e- onto an l. “Love. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s a very good word Josh.” Then she lays an ‘e-r-s’ on the end of it. “But this one’s even better.”

“Better?” Better? What does she mean by better?

“Well, yeah, it’s a double word score now.” It’s also making me want to rip your clothes off of you now. Well, except for the t-shirt, which needs to be handled delicately. It’s my favorite, and it’s very old.

I swallow hard; I’ve been doing that a lot lately; and lay a word down. “Duce? That’s your word?” 

“What’s wrong with duce? It’s a word.” 

“I know it’s a word Josh, but it’s not a word that people use.”

“Oh, like erotic is a word people use.” She can make me crazy for desire, but she cannot mock my choice of words. 

“Erotic is a much more common word that duce.” She’s got to stop saying that word. Erotic, not duce. 

“Duce is common. It’s what Mussolini called himself. It means chief or leader. It’s like me, I’m a duce.” 

“And I’m erotic.” She says this with a big smile as though she’s won.

“You’re what?” I’m squeaking again. 

“If you can be a duce, I can be erotic.” Lack of breath, again. She does that to me. I’m staring at her. Just staring. “What?” 

I take the beer from her hand and take a drink, still looking at her. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh, right.” She looks at her tiles, looks back up and me raising her eyebrows, then adds an ‘s-e’ onto ‘duce’

“Seduce?” It was less of a squeak and more of a whisper this time.

“Yes, Joshua, ‘seduce’.” Is it hot in here?

Don’t say it Josh; don’t say it. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I said it. I can’t shut-up around this woman.

She doesn’t say a word. She just takes two of her tiles and puts an ‘e-s’ behind a ‘y’.

“Hey, it’s my turn, and no three letter words, you know the…” I drift off as I realize what word she made. Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute. That’s a ‘yes.’ Yes, she’s trying to tell me something? What is she trying to tell me? I quickly review the words she’s laid. Seduce, erotic, loath, tongue, lovers…ok, let’s get rid of loath. She is trying to tell me something. I look up at her and she’s smiling at me the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. This is the smile I’ve dreamt about. This isn’t the ‘you’re insane smile’ or the ‘you need professional help’ smile, or even the ‘not in a million years’ smile that I received yesterday. This smile is… amazing.

“Donna?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to come over there and kiss you now.”

Again she doesn’t say anything, she just puts a ‘k’ next to an ‘o’.

I get up from my chair and slowly begin walking around the table, our eyes locked together. I get right in front of her and she stands up. We’re so close to each other that I can feel her breath on my lips, and suddenly, I’m thinking about everything and nothing all at once. I can smell the pearberry lotion she’s wearing, and I’m looking at her whitened teeth and hearing her say the next man who kissed her wouldn’t be able to get enough. Then the Victoria’s Secret bag is there in my mind, and I can’t help getting the overwhelming feeling that I am going to be the one to see that stuff. And it briefly crosses my mind that maybe she’s been seducing me all week. That this has all been part of her master plan. Nah.

She puts her arms around my neck and her fingers in my hair and she’s warm and soft and I shiver down to my toes. I put one hand around her waist and one in her hair, and it’s so silky, I could leave it there forever and she’s shivering too. And just before I kiss her, and I’m going to kiss the hell out of her, I have to say one small thing. “Donna?”

“Yes?” It’s just a breath.

“You’re not getting the points for the ‘yes’ or the ‘ok’.”


End file.
